Help Me Doc, I'm feeling!
by Lenore483
Summary: Hermione is Tom's psychiatrist


Written for round 12 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm Chaser 3 with the Falmouth Falcons.

My prompts were:

(Word) control

(Quote) Help Me... I'm feeling!

(Song) I won't say I'm in love

I chose to write about my OTP having an Unhappy ending. Even though I write a lot of Hevan (Hermione Granger/Evan Rosier) I would say that Tomione is the ship that holds a special place in my heart.

As you can probably tell, this story is what would happen if Hermione and Tom had the same story as Harley Quinn and the Joker had. It's an AU where Tom is 5 years older than Hermione, and it's the Death Eaters that are after Harry, but they are not lead by Voldemort. Tom Riddle is an assassin working for them that gets captured by Harry and taken to Azkaban. Everything should be explained within the story, but I have a limited amount of words I can use (3.000 max) to tell it, so there are details that I have planned that got cut because they weren't pertinent to the story. I'd rather let Tom and Hermione be the center than spend my time explaining how they got to the point, so if there is anything that confused you or you're just curious about, let me know in a review or pm and I will try and get back to you :)

Xx

* * *

She could do this.

Going back to muggle school, then Oxford University to study and become a psychiatrist was all for this. Years of struggling when she could have become an Auror straight after the war, like Harry and Ron.

But, studying something and standing outside Azkaban ready to talk to the insane criminals inside, were two very different things.

Her heart was beating faster as she stared at the building looming above her. She tried to control her breathing to calm herself, but it didn't work.

The guards didn't have patience for her to calm down, however, and they ushered her forward into the building that had become the symbol for everything she wanted. She guessed she just had to be ready for it.

* * *

To test Hermione's abilities as a psychiatrist, they had decided to go with Tom Marvolo Riddle. As a member of the Death Eaters—the criminals that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had spent their childhood years fighting—Tom Riddle was much more than your average criminal. He was their assassin, and it had taken Harry years to hunt him down and capture him.

The other reason they wanted Hermione to figure him out were the rumors surrounding him. According to them, the assassin known only as Voldemort is immortal.

"Hello Mister Riddle, my name is Hermione Granger. I'm your psychiatrist."

"I didn't know the wizarding world had any psychiatrists."

"I'm the first one."

"Aren't you special?" His mocking tone and smirk irked Hermione, but she knew it was just to get under her skin.

She looked down, shuffled some papers around, and said, "We're not here to talk about me, Mister Riddle. We are here to talk about you."

She met his intense stare and they both sat there, daring each other to be the first one to back down. Tom was the first one to relent. He leaned back and spoke, yet Hermione wasn't sure he was the one to have lost something.

"What do you want to know?"

"How was your childhood?"

He laughed at her and tugged at the restraints. She wondered, briefly, if their staring had been them daring each other to play a sick game of cat and mouse, where neither knew which was which. Was he the mouse trapped in here? Or was she the mouse that had walked into the cat's home?

"You're not the first psychiatrist they've sent after me, you know."

"Yes, I know. I have your medical records."

He had grown up in a poor excuse for an orphanage where the ward kept getting medical professionals to have a look at him. Most of what they found had been erased by Obliviators and never written down. It seemed like he had enough control of his magic at a young stage to warrant Obliviators making regular visits. Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed with that. Or that she could relate to feeling like a freak from an early age.

"Then why are you asking me?"

"I want to hear it in your words." She cursed herself for the quiver seeping into her voice. The crush she had on him from Hogwarts hadn't gone away entirely it seemed.

"I remember you," he said, changing the subject once again.

"What?" Hermione sat completely still in shock, her mouth hanging open by his admission. Did he remember her as the awkward twelve-year-old that would blush and stutter in his presence?

"You're Harry Potter's friend."

Disappointment washed over her. He didn't remember her as anything more than a sidekick. A third of a team, someone lesser than their friend, a shadow next to the presence of greatness. She shook her head at her own thoughts. Since when did she think such thoughts? It must be the dementors playing tricks on her, even if they were in a more secluded spot in the prison.

"Yes, I am."

"You were with him the night I tried to kill him."

A new rush of emotion flooded her then. Shame that she had fallen for his good looks and charm again; anger because he had tried to kill her best friend; and lastly, determination to not let her heart get in the way of her head.

"Yes, let's talk about that."

"Killing your friend? My, aren't we morbid."

"Then let's start with someone else." She shuffled her papers again, trying to regain her thoughts by looking at her meticulous notes. "Who was the first person you murdered?"

"You're jumping right in?"

"You don't seem to want to answer any of my questions."

"What can I say? I'm a private guy."

She realized that he would continue playing this game of cat and mouse unless she did something to stop it.

"Guess I need to find someone else to talk to then," Hermione said. "Have fun with only dementors for company." She started packing up her notes. Just as she rose and turned away from him, he called after her.

"Wait!"

Did her ears betray her? Or did he sound scared and sad to see her go?

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"I'll talk."

She smiled and sat down to continue interrogating him.

* * *

"What are the purpose of these visits, doc?"

"I'm here to help you."

"Help me, what, feel?"

She scoffed. "You're a psychopath; you can't feel empathy."

"When did you decide I was a psychopath? Was it when you read the Aurors' reports? Did I check all the little boxes that is on your list of attributes a psychopath has? What was it that made you decide that I am nothing more than that single word?"

"All of the case studies say—"

"I'm not just words on a paper, doc. I'm real."

"I know you're real," she said with too much emotion clouding her words. If he hadn't guessed how she felt already, he must have been able to tell now.

"What if I'm not a psychopath? What if you could save me?"

"Do you need saving?"

"Maybe. Or Maybe I just want to see you try to save me."

* * *

"I want you to fix me."

"Fix you?" She questioned.

"I am starting to feel something," he said. "What have you done to me, doc?"

"I haven't done anything, Mister Riddle. We have only been talking."

"Then why can't I stop thinking about you. Every time I close my eyes I see you, and I think I miss you when you're not here."

"You love me?" Hermione wasn't sure if she meant it as a question or a statement, but Tom's eyes widened and he looked afraid. Then something changed, and he looked determined.

"I'm a psychopath, remember? I can't feel love."

"What if you aren't a psychopath? What if I was wrong all this time?"

"You're admitting defeat?" He questioned, and his posture stiffened while he waited for her response.

"Not defeat, I'm admitting I might be wrong."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel the same way about me."

Her mouth opened as she wanted to force words to come out and dissuade him off the idea that he could be right.

"You can't, can you?" If it weren't for the restraints holding him, he would have been touching her. Since he was held back he just leaned forward as far as he could, looking into her eyes.

She sat still, thinking that if she sat like this she wouldn't have to admit the truth in his words. If she sat still, this moment could pass and she wouldn't have to say it out loud.

But the moment didn't pass. She had to do something to make it stop.

"You're beneath me," she said as she rose to leave. Lying to herself and trying to hurt him with her words. Because, maybe if he believed that she hated him, he would stop torturing her with lies of his feelings for her.

"That's a fine looking high horse. What's the view like from up there?" he said.

She stopped in the doorway, unsure if she wanted to turn and respond to his words. The words weren't untrue, and they hurt her enough that she was caught in this standstill of leaving him the victor of this sparring match, or responding to it and confirming his words.

In the end, she decided some things were better left unsaid.

* * *

"He's just taking advantage of your inexperience, Hermione!" Ron shouted.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, you haven't exactly dated anyone."

"Well if you hadn't strung me along for all those years, maybe I would have been able to date someone else!"

Ron scoffed.

"I could have been with plenty of guys if I knew you weren't interested!"

"You spend all your time in the library, how are you supposed to date anyone when you can't even look up from your books?"

"I dated Viktor, don't you remember?"

"You only did that to make me jealous."

"Not everything I do is about you, Ron."

"That doesn't mean I don't see what's going on. You love him, Hermione!"

"I don't!"

"Who'd you think you're kidding?"

"I am not in love with Tom Riddle." She couldn't be, could she? How was it that Ron would say something like that? He could barely figure out when he was in love with someone himself, but now, all of a sudden, he could see who she was in love with?

Why couldn't he have seen the way she was dying on the inside all those years ago because she was pining for him?

Tom had known she loved Ron before she knew it herself. It was one of the very few conversations they had at Hogwarts. She had just gotten out of her petrified state and was busy catching up on the schoolwork she had missed while unconscious. She remembered it vividly because he had walked up to her and asked about her health.

A look came over his face when he then asked, "Where is your boyfriend and best friend?"

At the time, she had hoped it was jealousy that marred that pretty face when he asked. "Ron isn't my boyfriend."

"But you wish he was, don't you?"

The question had startled her more than the conversation. If only she had realized it wasn't for concern, but curiosity about what the basilisk had done to her. Tom wanted to know what it felt like for his victims.

* * *

She had been called to Azkaban this time. Even though she had promised herself it was for the best to stay away from him, she went. Ron was right; even though she hated to admit it, Tom was probably just using her.

The warden had called Hermione in because Tom was acting out, insisting that he needed to see her. Rather than deal with the issue like a professional, the warden decided to floo Hermione in. Since Hermione had rotten judgment, she decided to go and see what Tom wanted.

"What is it, Mister Riddle?"

"Please," he said, and his voice was a broken shoestring choking her with emotion. "Call me Tom."

She inspected him and the way he was leaning against the wall. He was crouched on the floor, his shoulder and head resting against the wall as he looked down.

"Tom," she whispered and got to her knees.

He looked up at her, his beautiful, blue eyes piercing through her. It seemed this moment belonged to them both, yet it was stuck in the walls of Azkaban. Another heartfelt encounter by a prisoner losing his mind, and a visitor wishing there was a way to save the prisoner.

She could continue to try and convince herself that the way he looked at her had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the Dementors. They were playing tricks on his mind, ruining him like they were starting to ruin her.

"You're the only reason I have to keep living." The words were spoken in a volume so low Hermione barely caught the words. They suffocated her with the weight behind them, and she didn't know what to do with it—except kiss him.

She put her hand on his face and he leaned into it slightly, killing the last of her hesitation in regards to kissing him.

His lips were chapped and salty. Nothing like she had imagined since she was twelve, but it didn't stop her from feeling as if this was right. They were meant to be, even if the law forbade a relationship between patient and doctor, and he had a history of trying to kill her and her friends.

He pulled away in surprise, inspecting her face. When she stroked her hand against his cheek and smiled, he leaned in and kissed her back. It grew heated quickly, and would have become a lot more if it wasn't for the dementor passing by, quelling their emotions of joy.

"Come on," she said and pulled him to his feet.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm getting you out of here."

"Good," he said, and his hand curled around her waist like a snake waiting to squeeze the life out of her.

She looked up at his face and saw that he was smiling. The anguish he had been going through earlier gone from him completely. If it wasn't for the one tear that had slid down his cheek, she would have thought she imagined it all.

* * *

"Good job, Hermione," he said when they were finally in the clear. He held her closer all of a sudden. The arm that had been around her the entire time gripping her tighter while the other arm took a hold of her wand.

Then he apparated them to somewhere else, somewhere she had never been.

"I've seen inside your mind, and you wouldn't understand me like I want you to."

"You're a legilimens?"

He smiled at her. "I thought you knew this already, doc, didn't your papers tell you everything you needed to know about me?"

"Please don't do this, Mister Riddle," she said as she started backing away towards where she thought she saw a door.

"I told you to call me Tom!" he yelled. Then he breathed in while looking at the wand in his hand. Slowly, he looked up into her eyes and said, "Why not?"

He started advancing while he twirled her wand between his fingers. The movement seemed natural and practiced. Something about how casual it seemed her shiver in fear.

"I can still cure you!"

Her back hit the wall and she discovered there was no door there, only this room with its four walls and no exit point. It must have been made specifically for no one to get in unless you knew where it was and could apparate.

He laughed loud enough that it echoed off the walls of the room, intensifying the creepy ambience and killing the last of Hermione's hope of survival.

"Are you going to kill me now?" A tear slid down her cheek as she stared at the deranged man she had somehow fallen in love with; though she would never admit that she loved him out loud.

"I'm not going to kill you." He shook his head and smiled a sweet smile like they were talking about something else. "I need to make you understand how it is to be me if this is going to work out."

"Don't you love me, Tom?"

"Of course, I still love you, Hermione. I just have to love you a little less now."

She braced herself and he yelled out, "Crucio!"

* * *

On one side was the abyss, on the other, the people hunting them.

They had been on the run together ever since she had helped him out of jail. Her mind was different now, it was like a veil had been lifted and she wasn't restricted by the logic that had held her back all those years. Tom had logic enough for the both of them, he was brilliant in every way.

"I told Harry about the Horcruxes," she admitted. If they were going to die here, she wanted it to be without lies. Even if he might have already seen inside her mind and found

"Why would you do that?"

"I know you don't really love me."

He stepped closer to her, towering over her and making her heart beat faster. This was it; this was when he was going to kill her.

"I never lied about my feelings for you."

She looked at him in surprise, sure that he would take the words back. That something was about to happen that would make her heart break.

"I love you, Hermione Granger."

He leaned in to kiss her, but just before their lips met, she heard Harry yell out, "Expelliarmus!" and Tom was torn away from her, and into the abyss.

"NO!" she yelled and ran to the edge to jump after him. But Ron held her back.

"Hermione, calm down!" Ron said when she clawed at his arms, trying to get away from her best friend and follow her soul mate to death—just like she had followed him into insanity.

Ron wouldn't let her go until she succumbed to tears and fell to her knees.

"You killed him!" she screamed at Harry, and started hitting his chest. When Ron stepped away and left her alone with Harry, she took out the knife that Tom had given her. She let it be an extension of her body and drove it into Harry's stomach, pouring her emotions into it while she spilled Harry's guts on the floor.

He fell to his knees, betrayal and hurt shining at her from those pretty green eyes that had previously only looked at her with love.

"You took him away from me. I could never forgive you for that." Tom had taught her that it was easier to kill or maim someone then let them hurt you. Of course, they were each other's exception most of the time.

Blood was dripping off the poisoned knife by her side while she towered over her best friend dying at her feet.

"Hermione?" Ron said behind her.

She turned to look at him, eyes glowing red like Voldemort's would do after a kill. Maybe she had taken over his role in the world now that Harry had killed him. A grin lit up her features as she looked at Ron's horrified face.

He could have never understood her like Tom did.

"He was the Earth and Heaven to me," she said. Then she ran off the tower and followed Tom into the abyss.


End file.
